Just a Little Change, & Digging a Little Deeper, In a Whole New World
by AngelFace273
Summary: A series of one-shots set in genderbended universes of the Disney Princesses. You will find here snippets of some scenes, reimaginings of others, and a look into some that were missing. Irregular updates. Requests are welcomed, but not guaranteed a chapter.
1. Cinderallen and Princess Charlotte

Cinderella and Prince Charming have become Cinderallen and Princess Charlotte. This a missing scene from the movie. Please enjoy.

Chapter 1:_ So This Is Love..._

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><p>Princess Charlotte was not a patient woman, and so she couldn't help but alternate between sighing out the window and pacing a trench into the floor, all the while berating herself for acting like a love-sick idiot.<p>

All Charlotte had wanted was to see the man who had stirred her heart at the ball again (and maybe even get a name out of him this time). Not a few of the nobles in the court thought her silly to be so set on a man she had only known for one night, but Charlotte had felt something she never had before that night. It was a spark, something almost magical, and she was positive he had felt it too. What was so wrong about wanting to explore that spark further, and maybe even see it turn into love? It's not like she was actually going to marry him straight away, nevermind what her father's "Royal Decree" said.

So maybe she _had_ been a little hasty and overzealous in proclaiming that she wouldn't rest until she found the man who had left behind his peculiar glass ring. How was she supposed to know that her father would blow the whole thing out of proportion and make it a contest for her hand in marriage?

_Alright, I really should have seen it coming from the romantic sod,_ she reflected with equal parts irritation and affection. _He did throw an entire ball just in the hopes that I'd fall in love. Celebrating my return, my foot._

"Though why on earth he thinks it's a good idea that I stay behind during the search, I'll never know," she muttered, switching again from pacing to staring out the window. "I'm the one who knows best what he looks like."

Of course, Charlotte wasn't really worried that the wrong would fit the ring. As much as the King pushed for a marriage and heirs to the throne (read: grandchildren to spoil), he would never actually _force_ his only daughter into it. She knew that if the wring man was presented to her as the one to whom the glass ring belonged, she could and would refuse him and have the search continue.

What did worry her was that _no one_ fit the ring so far. One or two men to reject would not have been at all unusual. In fact, the princess had been expecting to have to turn away at least a few men – her mystery man's hands had been more or less of average size and shape; nothing at all strange about them. But according to the updates the Grand Duke regularly sent her, every single man who tried on the ring had, with no question about it, hands either too large or too small to fit it.

The whole thing set her quite on edge, and the more time passed the more she worried that this mystery man would never be found.

_If the whole court hadn't clearly seen him dancing with me,_ she thought, finally collapsing into a chair. _I'd have started to worry that he was merely a dream, or a ghost…_

Suddenly, her musings were interrupted by frantic knocking at the door.

"Your Highness!" cried the pageboy on the other side. "I have news from the Grand Duke!"

"Come in then," the princess called back, straightening up in her seat. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest with its pounding. She would have expected the now-regular "No luck just yet" report from the Duke, but the messenger sounded so excited–

The boy bounded in, barely remembering to sketch the briefest of bows. "Your Highness," the page said with a huge grin. "The Duke is back, and he's brought a man with him!"

Charlotte all but leapt out of her chair, and her heart decided that her throat would be an excellent place to reside for the time being.

"Where are they?" she demanded.

"The private reception room–" she didn't wait for him to finish and rushed out of the room, barely restraining herself from going into a full-on sprint. After all the anxiety and worry over the whole situation, she didn't want to wait any longer than she had to.

_Though if it's not him,_ she thought as she approached her destination, slowing in the process. _I may have to throw something._

Taking a moment to compose herself, Charlotte took a deep breath and opened the door.

The two men in the private reception room had their backs to her, but turned at the sound of the door. She absently noted the Grand Duke's presence, but most of her attention was on the other man.

He wore a simple peasant's outfit in blue and varying shades of brown. He was on the lean side, with rather delicate-looking features, though there was a quiet confidence in the way he stood that made him appear slightly broader than he actually was. Coupled with his pale skin, dirty blonde hair, and cerulean-blue eyes, he looked almost like a porcelain doll.

Charlotte smiled softly. Even without the glass ring sitting perfectly on his right hand, she would have known him anywhere.

"Ah, my Lady," the Duke was beaming fit to burst. "Your Highness, allow me to present Master Allen Tremaine."

The couple each stepped forward, eyes only on each other. Allen – oh, how nice it was to finally have a name! – gently took her hand and placed a feather-light kiss on it with a shy smile.

"It's an honour to see you again, Your Highness," he murmured with a small wry grin, and her heart actually fluttered at the sound of the same musical voice that had hummed along to the music as they danced at the ball. Distantly, she noticed that he had yet to let go of her hand.

"It's an honour to finally have your name, Master Allen," she shot back with a grin of her own, an eyebrow raised. He grimaced slightly.

"I've been known as 'Cinderallen' for man years now."

With a curious tilt of her head, Charlotte asked, "Which would you prefer?"

A thoughtful look on his face, he replied, "The latter, actually. I've been Cinderallen for so long, I almost don't remember being Master Allen Tremaine."

The princess was trying to decide which part would be best to ask about first – life as Cinderallen or life as Allen Tremaine – when the Duke reminded the pair of his presence.

"Well then!" he announced, startling them out of their little private bubble. "I believe I shall go inform His Majesty of our return. He will want to begin discussing wedding plans as soon as possible. Your Highness, Master Al-Cinderallen," he corrected himself as he bowed out of the room.

It was quiet for a moment as Charlotte and Cinderallen stared in the direction the Duke had left. They took one glance at each other, and promptly burst into giggles.

"No offense to you or your father," Cinderallen told her as their laughter died down. "But I believe we should stall those wedding plans for a bit. One dance at a ball does not a marriage make."

Still grinning, she let out a small sigh of relief. "And here I was wondering how to convince you to wait until we had more than that dance to go on," she agreed. "My father can be a little silly in his romanticism. He probably thinks we fell head over heels in love the moment we laid eyes on each other."

He ducked his head with a tiny blush. "Well, I should hope he's not too far off the mark," he murmured. "Because I think I could definitely fall head over heels for you, eventually."

With a happy grin, Charlotte moved closer to lean against his chest, and Cinderallen gently wrapped his arms around her waist with a smile of his own.

The princess sighed happily and relaxed into the embrace of her (hopefully soon) new beloved. A passing thought flew through her head: _So this is love…_


	2. Prince Rampion and Myrtle Fitzherbert

Princess Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert (aka Flynn Rider) have become Prince Rampion and Myrtle Fitzherbert (aka Fiona Rider). This is the scene where Rapunzel reveals her hair's healing powers to Eugene. Please enjoy.

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><p>Myrtle Fitzherbert, better known as the beautiful and stunning Queen of Thieves Fiona Rider, could honestly say that this was the weirdest day of her entire life.<p>

All she had wanted was to steal a crown, ditch the pervy Stabbington Brothers (really?), hide out in that convenient mysterious tower, and be so much closer to an early retirement on her own private island. Nowhere in that list was there any mention of playing chaperone to some pretty boy with _ridiculously_ long hair (she's not jealous, of course not, who would be jealous of _fifty feet of hair_? Even if it was incredibly soft and shiny - damnit).

Now she's sitting at a fire, after almost drowning, with the same guy who apparently has magic glowing hair.

Which was being wrapped around her injured hand.

"You're being strangely cryptic as you wrap your magic hair around my injured hand," she told him warily. She winced when the hair rubbed the wound the wrong way.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" Rampion (and what kind of name was that? Sounded like some kind of disease…) cringed in sympathy. "Now, just don't… don't freak out. Please."

Fiona glanced back down at the hair, starting to feel worried. What exactly was it going to do other than glow that would freak her out? Come alive?

_...For the love of god, please don't let it come alive,_ she thought frantically. She looked up at Rampion to see him take a deep breath and begin to sing.

"_Flower gleam and glow,"_ his voice was a warm, light tenor, and if she wasn't so concerned about just what that song was going to do Fiona actually might've enjoyed hearing Rampion singing to her. Just as in the cave, his hair began to glow pure gold, like sunlight, at the roots and down his back.

"_Let your power shine,"_ Fiona had almost forgotten that the river of hair was snaked around the campsite, and almost jumped when the gold magic reached the hair sitting right behind her. She followed it with her eyes, transfixed.

"_Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine,"_ The chameleon (frog) caught her attention as the magic passed him. He had one of the smuggest looks she had ever seen on his face, and when he knew he had her attention he gestured to look at her hand.

_"Heal what has been hurt, change the fates' design,"_ By this point, the glow had reached the section of hair wrapped around Fiona's hand. As she watched anxiously, the glowing hair became pleasantly warm, and her hand began to tingle. It didn't hurt, wasn't even uncomfortable, but that just made her a little more nervous.

"_Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine. What once was mine,"_ Though she would completely deny it later, Rampion's last note sent a pleasant shiver up her spine. The glow faded quickly, and Rampion opened his eyes again, peering at her anxiously.

Warily, Fiona raised her hand and unwrapped the hair from it. Then she choked back a scream.

The wound was _gone_. Not scabbed over, not faded, but gone, as if she was never injured. A little hysterically, she checked the rest of her hand in case it had just moved or something. Then she noticed something else. The thief knew for a fact that she had at least two or three small scars on this hand. Every single one of them were gone too.

_I think I'm going to scream now_, she thought numbly. She took a deep breath for that scream—

"Please don't freak out!" Rampion jumped in, taking her not-healed-by-freaking-_magic_ hand in both of his with a pleading expression.

The scream turned into a squeak, and no, no she was not affected by his hands on hers, nope. Definitely not affected by the warm hands that were cradling her hand as gently as if she was a skittish animal. Nope, not affected one bit.

"I'm not freaking out," she babbled. "Are you freaking out? No, I'm just rather interested in your hair and the magical qualities that it possesses, exactly how long has it been doing that by the way?" Trying to fight off panic, Fiona wasn't sure exactly what to do with herself. Rampion was still holding the one hand, and she started to run her other hand through her hair before remembering that _magic had been used on it_. So she just stuck her hand between her knees and looked at her companion with a hysterical expression.

"Forever, I guess," he replied with a sympathetic smile, which surprisingly helped calm her down a little. He pulled his hands away from hers as he grew more serious.

"Mother said that when I was a baby, people tried to cut it," he told her, and suddenly the rest of Fiona's panic disappeared. "They wanted to keep it for themselves. But, once it's cut," Here Rampion pulled the hair at the nape of his neck to reveal a small curl of brown hair. "It turns brown and loses its power."

Fiona stared at that lock of brown as the implications of it sunk in. Rampion had all that hair because, in order to keep the magic, he never cut it. He lived in that tower to hide from those who would use him for that magic. He attacked her the moment he saw her in fear that she was one of them.

Something didn't add up, though. Holed up in that tower of his, she doubted that Rampion's power saw that much use. This little adventure of his proved that he valued his freedom more than the magic. If it was hindering his freedom, and it wasn't being used to help people, then why keep it? What was the use of healing magic that wasn't healing people? Why not just cut it off?

"A gift like that," the boy in question interrupted her thoughts. Her eyes darted back up to the blonde's face, which looked so _sad_, and the thief's heart went out to him. "It has to be protected. That's why Mother never let me—" he cut himself off, and tried to continue with "That's why I never left…" He turned his head away, looking like he was about to cry.

"…You never left that tower," she finished slowly as the realization sunk in. Rampion shut himself away from the world because his mother forced him to. Fiona didn't have much experience with mothers, but she did know that this wasn't right. She had only known this boy for a day, and she could see clearly how much his situation was hurting him. The blonde was so open and friendly and sociable, she could imagine how he had lived so long with only his mother and a chameleon to talk to. Shouldn't his mother have seen this too? Shouldn't his mother have either let him have happiness by helping people, or set him free by cutting his hair?

What kind of mother would condemn her child to this life?

Fiona reached out and placed her hand on his, an echo of what he had done for her earlier. He looked back at her with such melancholy eyes that she almost wanted to cry for him.

"And you still want to go _back_?" she asked. After finally getting a taste of the outside world, did he really still plan to shut himself away again?

"_No_," he burst out vehemently, but then gave an uncertain "Yes…" Finally he just sighed and dropped his head. "It's complicated," he murmured to their joined hands.

Fiona's heart clenched. _He's gonna wear himself out completely if he keeps living like this,_ she thought sadly.

Finally, Rampion removed his hands to run them through his hair with a deep sigh, and all his troubles seemed to just melt off of him then. He shot her an amused glance.

"So," he drawled, raising an eyebrow. "Myrtle Fitzherbert, huh?"

She laughed, embarrassed, and recognized the wish for a change of subject. "Oh honey, you don't want to hear the sob story of poor orphan Myrtle Fitzherbert. Too much of a downer."

Rampion just scooted closer until they were almost touching, rested his chin on his hand, and looked at her with curious and attentive eyes.

Fiona flushed a little. She couldn't remember the last time someone looked at her that way, like they genuinely wanted to know about her. "Well… There was this book. I used to read it every night to all the younger kids – _The Tales of Fianola Rider_. Wandering adventuress, expert with a blade, broke hearts everywhere she went, not that she'd really care though."

Her captivated audience grinned and asked, "Was she a thief, too?"

"Well, no," she responded, her enthusiasm dying a little as shame crept in. "Actually, she had enough money to do whatever and go wherever she wanted. And everywhere she went, men treated her with the utmost respect. And, I guess, for a girl with very few options… it just seemed like the best one."

Out of instinct, Fiona waited for the judgment and scorn, some rudeness at least. Rampion just hummed in understanding.

To help save face, she put on a grin and told him, "You can't tell anyone about this, okay? It could ruin my whole reputation."

"Ah," he replied, playing along. "We wouldn't want that, now do we?"

"Well, a fake reputation is really all a girl has, darling," she teased back. The two shared a laugh, and then Fiona made the mistake of looking directly into his eyes.

Rampion's smiling face was so warm and welcoming, even affectionate, and it was all directed at her. The thief had mimicked her idol's behavior with men and never let any of them get too close. They usually weren't worth the time to do so anyway. Somehow, Rampion was different. Looking into his happy green eyes, sparkling in the firelight, Fiona felt a warmth growing in her chest she'd never felt before in her entire life.

It took her a moment to realize that she was staring. Looking away with a light blush, she cleared her throat and stood up. "Well then, I should… um, I should…" she stammered. "I should go get some more firewood." She turned to walk away, when he called her back.

"Hey," She turned around to she him smiling sweetly. "For record, I think I prefer Myrtle Fitzherbert over Fiona Rider."

Now that light blush became a lot heavier. "Well," she mumbled, glancing down at the recently healed hand. "You'd be the first then. But thanks."

With that, Fiona (Myrtle) walked away. She had a lot to think about.


	3. Amonute and Jane Smith

Pocahontas and John Smith have become Amonute and Jane Smith. This is the moment they met.

Warning: Jane Smith has some racist ideals about Native Americans in this. This does not at all reflect my views on Native Americans at all. In the movie, John says things about the "savages" that are rude if not straight up racist, so Jane also shares those views. We all know that those views will change, and that John only saw things that way because that was what he was taught. Still, if anything said in this story offends anyone at all, you have my sincerest apologies.

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><p>Captain Jane Smith carefully climbed down the rocks that lead to the water's edge, relieved to be able to get away from the ship. If the new worlds she got to visit and the strange lands she could learn about weren't worth all the fuss and nonsense that came with being the only woman on a vessel full of men, she would've called the whole adventuring business quits by now.<p>

_I suppose it's not all bad_, she mused as she took off her helmet and crouched down next to the water, adjusting her skirt in the process. _When they can forget my sex, some of the men are fairly fun and decent folk._

Jane Smith had spent the first voyages of her sailing career disguised as a man by the name of **John** Smith. By the time the truth of her identity came out, she had already made a well-known name for herself, almost becoming a legend among the ships of His Majesty's Navy. While some officers and nobles demanded her arrest for her "gall and indecency", or at least her dismissal, King James allowed her to keep her position, as well as allowing her to sail under her own name.

And now she was in another New World, under her own name and rather fantastical reputation, in a comfortable combination of armor and a modified travelling dress, with her faithful gun at her side, and about to cool her warmed face.

_Now if I can just keep young Thomas' hero worship from turning into a crush,_ she thought as she cupped her hands and brought fresh cool water to her face. _And find a way to politely tell that fat Ratcliffe to go jump off a cliff–_

Her thought process froze, and so did the rest of her, when she noticed something within the water in her hands. Though it was a little faint, and rather blurry, Jane could clearly see the outline of a person in the reflection of the trees above her.

Instantly, her mind flashed to the other lands she had helped colonize and civilize in the past. Of the natives and savages who had attempted to resist the ways and teachings of England. Then she remembered the reports of the explorers who had discovered this particular land, the stories of people who could hide in darkness effortlessly, attack without warning, then melt into the forest and vanish without a trace.

_Indians._

With forced casualness, Jane splashed the water on her face as she had intended, but now she also kept her ears peeled for any sound behind her and tried to make as little noise as possible. As quietly and swiftly as she could without raising suspicion, the Captain stood with her helmet back on her head and her rifle tight in her grasp and hopped along the boulders in the water.

These Indian savages were a danger to any of the crew of the _Susan Constant_, but to Jane Smith, as a woman, they were twice as such. She had heard plenty of horror stories of women in other colonies who were captured by natives, and she had no desire to become one of them. All she needed was a place to hide and prep her weapon, and to draw out her prey…

As she drew closer to the waterfall, she just barely spotted a small ledge behind it. _That'll do._ In one fluid movement, Jane leaped from her rock, through the falling water, and on the ledge, ending in a crouch that faced the opposite direction. And there she waited, just barely blinking or breathing, for a sign of life on the other side of the water.

Slowly, almost painfully so, a dark and blurry shape began to appear. It came closer and closer to her hiding place, and finally the Captain could see that it was definitely human. Keeping one eye on that shape, Jane quietly prepped her rifle, using her helmet to shield the flint from the water.

At last, with a silent prayer for victory, Jane Smith jumped out of the waterfall, planted herself on a boulder, aimed her gun at her adversary, and froze.

Like something out of a fairy tale, the mists that separated the two parted and revealed a tall, lithe, brown-skinned man standing in front of her, his long black hair (longer and darker than she had ever seen on anyone, much less a man) flying like a flag in the wind.

He didn't wear much in the way of clothing, just deerskin cloth wrapped around his waist and tossed over one shoulder – and the tiny part of Jane that was still a proper English lady squeaked in shock at the sight of the man's bare chest (it did not help that he was rather fit). The only other adornments he wore were a blue pendant, a peculiar red tattoo on his arm like an armband, and a feather headband holding back his long black hair that looked smooth as silk. What truly captured her attention though, was something else entirely.

When Jane took a moment to think about the rumored savages of this New World, she imagined dark-skinned figures in a perpetual crouch, teeth bared and blood streaked across faces and arms in ritualistic patterns, and above all: cold eyes filled with mindless hate – this was the picture drawn by the stories of those who had caught glances of the Indians.

The man that stood before her now looked nothing like this. He stood tall and proud, as still as a statue, and his eyes were far from cold and hateful, mindless or otherwise; instead they held an intensity directed solely on her, as well as wariness with a hint of fear.

Jane didn't fully realize she had lowered her rifle until her arms were already at her sides. Feeling a great pull between herself and the man before her, she couldn't help but draw closer to him, slowly setting her gun down on the ground and stepping in the water to close the distance between them, his eyes never breaking away from hers. The whole thing felt so surreal, like a dream, and she couldn't help reaching a hand out to touch and confirm his existence.

Unfortunately, this broke the spell that had been cast over the two of them. The man blinked at her hand, and then he was gone. With a sudden and unexpected burst of speed, he ran off into the trees.

"Wait!" Jane cried, startled. Struggling with her skirt a bit, she scrambled out of the water and took off after him. She was just barely able to keep the man in sight; he ran faster than anyone she had ever seen, with a grace and nimbleness the Captain envied. The brambles and branches didn't seem to hinder him at all, even with his bare feet, whereas the entire forest seemed determined to slow her down and trip her up. At last, they came to a clearing by a river, and Jane finally managed to catch up as the man climbed into a canoe and made to leave.

"Wait, please!" she called again as the man grabbed a paddle and started to push off. "Don't go!" This time, he paused and turned back at her. His face was still wary, but there was less fear now. Jane halted a few steps away from the boat and slow put her empty hands up; the last thing she needed was to spook him again. "Look," she said quietly, as if to a frightened animal. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The man looked at her a little side-eyed, but slowly took his paddle out of the water. Encouraged, Jane took a few slow steps closer and held out her hand. "I just want to talk. Come on out?"

He tilted his head and looked confused. "_Mata que, na torath,_" he said, shaking his head. Jane could've kicked herself.

"You don't understand a single word I'm saying, do you?" she sighed and slumped her shoulders. At least the man was relaxed now; he seemed to find her woebegone expression amusing, if his brief chuckling was any indication. "Well, at least I'm entertaining," she told him with a wry smile. Absentmindedly, she noted that he had a nice laugh, and she wouldn't mind hearing it more.

She crouched down to be at eye-level with him and held out her hand again. "Please come out?" she asked. He glanced between her face and her hand hesitantly for a moment, then finally put his hand in hers.

Considering the draw she felt to him from the moment they met, Jane half-expected chills when they finally touched. What happened instead left her in awe: the moment he gently grasped her hand, a great warmth spread from her fingertips to the rest of her body. Her entire soul seemed to breathe a great sigh of content, and the wind suddenly picked up around their joined hands. Her eyes never left his as she gently pulled him and the canoe back to shore, even when he stepped out of the boat and they both stood up. Neither seemed inclined to release the other's hand.

The wind picked up more, blowing both of their hair into the air, and the entire world ceased to exist except the pair of them. Standing so close now, Jane was surprised to find that he seemed to dwarf her a little, despite her own formidable height and muscle – she even had to look up slightly at him. He looked a little awed himself, and his dark eyes seemed to be looking deep into her very heart and soul.

Jane, forgetting that he wouldn't be able to understand, whispered "Who are you?"

The man closed his eyes, as if searching for an answer. Then, after a long moment, he opened his eyes again and breathed "Amonute."

Jane blinked, unsure. Had he just answered her? "What did you say?" she asked, feeling that same surrealism from the waterfall.

The man –_Amonute?_ – smiled at her, and the Captain could swear that she had never seen anything as beautiful. "My name," he told her, and though his lips still appeared to be speaking that strange language from before, Jane could hear his velvet-like voice speaking clear English in her ear, "is Amonute."

Her heart felt like it was about to burst as she returned that smile, just as blinding. "I'm Jane Smith," she replied. They were still holding hands. Neither seemed to mind.

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><p>I LIIIIIIVVEEE!<p>

I am so sorry about my absence. I have long stretches of writer's block. I have been working on this for so long, you would not believe. Hopefully (and I really really really hope that I don't jinx myself) I should have a couple more stories done in the next few days.

I hope you enjoyed! Please don't hesitate to ask questions or leave reviews.


	4. Prince Duban and Morgiana

Princess Jasmine and Aladdin have become Prince Duban and Morgiana. This is the scene in the dungeon and what precedes it.

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><p>"JAFAR!" Prince Duban bellowed as he marched into the royal vizier's quarters, furious. <em>He has gone too far this time! <em>He fumed as he caught sight of his prey. The oily man in question had his back to the entrance, and, caught by surprise, startled at the roar of his name.

"Oh, uh, Highness," he whirled around and bowed dramatically, spreading his cape. "How may I be of service to you, my prince?"

Duban had never liked Jafar. The snake usually made his skin crawl just by being in the same room, and he was constantly work some kind of angle. The prince hated how much influence Jafar had over his father, and one of the first thing Duban planned to do once he was Sultan was to kick him straight out of his office, preferably out of the palace all together.

But until then, Duban had to grit his teeth and try to keep the vizier out of his business, which was harder than it sounded; Jafar seemed to delight in trying to find new ways to condescendingly kiss up to the prince.

But Duban was too angry to deal with the man's usual machinations this time, and went directly in his face.

"The guards just arrested a girl from the market," he growled, pointing an accusing finger in his face. "On **your **orders."

Jafar, as snobbish as ever, took on a familiar air of superiority that always made the prince want to hit him. "Your father has charged me with keeping peace in Agrabah," he sniffed. "The girl was a criminal."

Duban had to take a deep breath to control his anger at the vizier's dismissive tone. "And what, pray tell," he seethed. "Was her crime?"

Jafar shot him a look of slight confusion. "Why, aiding in the kidnapping of the prince, of course," he told him, as if it was obvious.

"Kidnap!" Duban exclaimed incredulously. "Nobody kidnapped me! I ran away!" Who in the world came up with **that** story? _Of all the ridiculous and harebrained ideas..._

"Oh dear," Jafar walked off a little in what was obviously false shock and concern. "Oh, how frightfully upsetting, had I but known!"

Duban's guard was instantly up. In all the years the prince had known him, Jafar preferred to act as if he was aware of every single thing that occurred in the kingdom. If he was pretending shock at this new information, it meant that he'd done something, and he knew Duban would not like it.

"What do you mean?" he asked warily.

"Sadly," Jafar replied with extremely false sympathy. "The girl's sentence has already been carried out."

Fear began to grow in his heart. "What sentence?"

The vizier couldn't seem to keep the sinister relish out of his voice. "Death."

The prince felt his heart stop, and his knees grew shaky. A small breath of "no," escaped.

"By beheading," Jafar added. He might as well have punched Duban in the stomach, and he couldn't help sinking down on the couch next to him.

She couldn't be dead. She just couldn't. His marketplace girl —_ I didn't even know her name_, he thought with growing despair — with the wicked grin and the kind eyes. She was barely older than he was, and had one of the sweetest and happiest natures he'd ever seen.

She barreled into his life by saving him, a complete stranger, and proceeded to understand him better than anyone in his entire life, so much better than any of those empty-headed princesses his father had paraded before him. How could she suddenly be gone?

A large bony hand clasped his shoulder in a mockery of comfort. "I am exceedingly sorry, Highness," Jafar oozed in his ear. Duban shook off the hand and whirled on him.

"How could you?" He hissed, fighting back the tears stinging his eyes. "She was just an innocent girl. How could you?!"

_And how could I?_ He thought to himself as he finally ran out the room, the tears beginning to stream down his face. _I dragged her into my mess. It's all my fault._

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><p>Down in a dungeon beneath the palace, Morgiana was chained to the wall, and wishing that she could hit herself. Repeatedly.<p>

"The prince," she groaned to herself. "Of all the people– I must've sounded like a complete _moron_! Ugh." She thunked her head against the stone wall behind her. It was quiet for a few moments, until the thief heard a very familiar call. She looked up at the high window that was the only source of light to see her best friend poking his head between the bars. The monkey chattered at her what she knew to mean "Hello!" with a tip of his cap.

"Abu!" Morgiana called with a grin. "I'm down here!"

Quickly and nimbly, the monkey swung and leaped from chains and beams until he could land safely on the floor in front of his companion.

"Abu, you are a gift from Allah," she told him happily. "Can you get me out of these?" But instead of jumping eagerly to help, or at least giving her a fond eye roll, like she expected, Abu chattered angrily at her. Then he fashioned his vest around his head like a lady's hood, made his eyes big, and walked around with an exaggerated sway of his hips and cooed sappily. Then he dropped the act and shouted his annoyance at her.

Morgiana glared at him. "What was I supposed to do, let him lose his hand? He was in trouble, and I couldn't just stand by and watch! ...And I was not that bad," she added sulkily.

Abu grumbled to himself and hopped up to where her wrists were fastened to the wall. As he pulled out his lockpicks and started working on the lock, Morgiana sighed at the thought of the prince.

"If it makes you feel any better," she said glumly. "I doubt I'm ever going to see him again. I'm a street rat, remember? The law says that the prince needs an heir of royal blood. I can't give him that."

She heard a _click_, and her wrists were free. Abu hopped back down, looking extremely pleased with himself, but Morgiana barely noticed as she rubbed some feeling back into her wrists.

"Even if I was royalty," She murmured, now feeling more and more depressed. "What could he see in a scrawny little thing like me?" With another sad sigh, she gathered the monkey in her arms for a much-needed hug. Abu, who knew all about her low self-esteem created by her life as a thief, did his best to offer comfort.

"I'm such a fool," she groaned into his fur.

"You're only a fool if you give up, girlie," a voice sneered suddenly.

Morgiana leapt to her feet, clutching her friend tighter and hackles raised. No one, not in her entire life, had _ever_ snuck up on her that easily.

"Who's there?" she demanded, trying to keep the sudden fear that pounded in her heart from her voice.

A skinny, hunchbacked old man with a long scraggly beard hobbled out of a shadowed section of the dungeon, and the thief was immediately suspicious. He wasn't chained up, like she had been, and the crooked-teeth grin on his face made her skin crawl.

"A lowly prisoner, like yourself," he rasped, and Morgiana had to bite her tongue to keep herself from replying with _Sure you are_. "But together," he added with a leer. "Perhaps we could be more."

She stiffened, and she could feel the monkey in her arms do the same. They both know what that could mean, for she'd been made similar offers in the past. She had said no to them before, and she'd be damned if she changed her answer now. Especially for this old pervert.

"Not a chance, creep," She snapped with a furious glare and a step back. "Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying." Abu also shrieked his thoughts on the idea.

The old man frowned at their less than enthusiastic response. "But there is a cave," he urged. "A cave of wonders! Filled with treasures beyond your wildest dreams!" Before the thief could say anything in response, the old man reached into his rags and pulled out a handful of rubies, shoving them in her face.

Her anger and distrust took a backseat as Morgiana stared in awe at the gems — good grief, were they _glowing_? They were stunning, and she would freely admit that her weakness for shiny expensive objects was a small part of the reason she was a thief. Hearing Abu's admiring tones as well, she couldn't help reaching a hand out to touch.

But the old man snatch them away and put them back in his rags. Over his shoulder he added to his last statement, "Treasure enough to impress even that prince of yours, I'd wager."

She hadn't thought about that. Morgiana bit her lip. A heap of treasure would almost definitely give her more of a chance with Prince Duban. However...

"But," she began uncertainly. "The law says that the prince needs a royal heir–"

"You've heard of the Golden Rule, haven't you girl?" he interrupted, pushing his face close to hers. "Whoever has the gold makes the rules." He grinned, showing hideously bad teeth.

Well that was certainly true. When Morgiana thought about it, the old man did have a point. But she wished for the love of Allah that he'd get out of her face, because he also had terrible breath.

She sidestepped away, the monkey in her arms climbing to her shoulders, when a thought occurred to her.

"Wait," she eyed him suspiciously. "Why share all this wonderful wealth with me?" She knew the rules of the streets; an offer like this most often came with a price.

"I need a young thing like you," he told her. "Someone with strong legs and a good back, to go in after it." Morgiana felt slightly harassed when he tapped the inside of her legs with his cane and patted her back to accentuate his point. She was glad when he scampered back to the corner he'd been hiding in before.

As crazy and creepy as he seemed, everything the old man talked about did make sense. He'd lead the way, she'd do the grunt work, and they both walked away rich. Only one detail missing.

"Just one problem," she told him sardonically. "If you haven't noticed, it's out there; we're in here. The guards aren't just going to let us walk out quietly."

The old man just tutted at her. "Things aren't always what they seem." Looking smug, he pushed on the wall next to him with his cane. To her surprise, a section of the wall gave way to a secret tunnel, light shining at the other end.

"So," he drawled, catching her attention again. "Do we have a deal?"

Worrying her lip again, Morgiana glanced at the monkey on her shoulders. Abu just shrugged, indicating that the decision was hers.

On the one hand, they'd be free of the dungeons. On the other hand, something really didn't sit right with her about the old man, and she did not want to spend more time than she had to with him. To be perfectly honest, the whole thing smelled a little fishy.

But on the other hand, there was treasure waiting on the other end of this endeavor. And with that treasure, came the possibility of gaining Duban's heart. Was it really worth the risk?

With a deep breath, Morgiana turned to the old man, waiting with a hand outstretched, with her decision.


	5. Thomas and Princess Naya

Tiana and Prince Naveen have become Thomas and Princess Naya. This is the scene where Charlotte La Bouff (Leonard La Bouff) tells Tiana about the prince and the ball.

* * *

><p>"You've got about as much chance of gettin' that restaurant as I do of winnin' the Kentucky Derby!"<p>

Thomas managed to restrain himself from snapping at his laughing co-worker, though it was a very near thing. He should've been used to it by now – Buford had something to say about the young man's restaurant at least once a week, if not more often, but it still rankled him to know that the number of people who truly believed he could get it was so small. Not for the first time, he considered just asking the La Bouffs for the rest of the money to buy the building. Leonard had said before that he and his dad would be willing to back him. Once he had the restaurant, he could fix it up at his own leisure, and then once Tommy's Place opened, it would be easy enough to pay them back…

As he served the next few tables, Thomas mentally shook his head. He'd get his restaurant on his own merit and skills, not because of his connections. Leonard couldn't understand it, but his father did, and tried to help instead by occasionally hiring Thomas to cater events for him.

As if the thought of him had summoned him, Eli 'Big Daddy' La Bouff walked through the door with a newspaper and sat down in what had become his table.

"Mornin', Mr. La Bouff!" Thomas called over his shoulder.

"Good morning Thomas!" he greeted warmly, and Thomas had to smile. It was hard to dislike the large sugar baron. Mr. La Bouff was one of those rare people who were completely and absolutely race-blind, as well as cheerful and generous to everyone he met.

"Heard ya got voted King of the Mardi Gras parade again," the waiter commented with a grin as he served the last of his current load.

"Caught me completely by surprise," La Bouff informed him, before grinning and adding "For the fifth year in a row!" As he chortled, he proceeded to fold his napkin in his collar and rub his hands eagerly. "Now, how's about I celebrate with-"

But Thomas was already ahead of him. "Beignets?" he finished as he placed a plate of the pastries on the table. "Got me a fresh batch just waitin' for ya."

La Bouff chuckled eagerly and held up a beignet. "Well keep 'em comin' till I pass out!"

Just then, the door slammed open, and a slim blond whirlwind flew through it towards Thomas, calling his name excitedly. "Hey Lenny," Thomas sighed with a smile as Leonard La Bouff danced around the waiter chanting "Tommy Tommy Tommy!" before sitting next to his father, practically vibrating in his seat.

Leonard was as flighty as a bird, flamboyant as a peacock, excitable as a squirrel, and a romantic besides. Fairy tales and love stories that had Thomas rolling his eyes made Leonard sigh and daydream, and he was constantly pining over beautiful but unattainable girls. The elder La Bouff didn't really understand his son's tendencies, but he adored his only child regardless and tended to spoil him a little. So when Leonard plopped himself into the chair next to him and began chattering at a mile a minute, Mr. La Bouff only smiled indulgently while Thomas rolled his eyes fondly.

"Tommy, did you hear the news?" Leonard practically squealed. "Princess Naya of Maldonia is comin' to New Orleans. An actual princess Tommy! Isn't it just the bee's knees? Dad, tell Tommy what you did, tell him!"

Patting away the powdered sugar from his mouth, Mr. La Bouff began "Well, I invited-"

But Leonard was too excited to wait for his father. "Dad invited the princess to our masquerade ball tonight. It's just like a fairy tale! Tell him what else you did Dad."

Mr. La Bouff opened his mouth to speak, then paused to see if Leonard was going to interrupt again, knowing his son. When the blonde merely sat excitedly, he began to say "and she's stay-" only to stop and shove a beignet in the younger La Bouff's mouth when he started to talk over his father. "And she's stayin' in our house as my personal guest," he finally finished, sighing in relief that he could at last get a word in. Leonard nodded eagerly as he chewed the pastry in his mouth.

Though Thomas couldn't really care less about some princess (unlike his friend, the waiter was too practical to believe that a happily-ever-after was automatically attached to anyone with a royal title), he knew how much Leonard dreamed of a fairy tale romance with a beautiful woman, and you couldn't get much closer to that than a romance with a princess. So when he spoke next, it was with genuine warmth and pride for his best friend.

"Lenny, that's really swell. I'm sure you'll sweep her off her feet. A li'l bit of advice though," he said as he brought another plate of his beignets to Mr. La Bouff to help emphasize his point. "My Mama always said the quickest way to anyone's heart is through their stomach."

Walking away, Thomas didn't notice the light bulb go off in Leonard's head. The blonde looked at the plate, whispered "That's it!" excitedly, grabbed the beignet in his father's hand, and launched himself at his friend.

Ignoring Mr. La Bouff's confusion at his pastry-less hand, Leonard threw his arms around Thomas exclaiming "Tommy! You're a bona fide genius!" Looking at the waiter's confused face, he clarified, "Your beignets! I don't know anyone who doesn't love 'em. If the princess tries some of 'em at the masquerade tonight, she'll love 'em so much that she'll fall right into a romantic state of mind. It'll be the perfect thing!"

"Thanks Lenny, but I really don' think-" Thomas tried to say, but Leonard wasn't listening. As he darted back to his father (who was ignoring his son's antics in favor of eating his breakfast) and reached into the older man's inside pocket to grab his wallet, he told Thomas "I'm gonna need 'bout five hundred beignets. Will this about cover it?"

Then he shoved several hundred-dollar bills into Thomas' hands.

Struck speechless, Thomas scrambled a bit to catch all of the money and stared at it. Quickly, his mind calculated exactly how much money he currently had in his hands, as well as how much he'd have left after five hundred beignets.

The numbers he came up with almost overwhelmed him.

"Th-this should do it just fine, Lenny," he said in a daze, and then his mind finally caught up to reality. "This is it," he gasped as his excitement grew. "I'm gettin' my restaurant!"

Leonard blinked, then gasped in delight as he realized the implications of what he just did. He couldn't help hugging his best friend again with a happy laugh. "Both of our dreams are finally comin' true," he grinned as Thomas beamed back at him. "Tonight'll be the start of the rest of our lives!"

* * *

><p>As he absently changed out of his stained and dirty Renaissance costume into the prince costume Leonard gave him, Thomas tried to give half an ear to his friend's chattering, but his heart wasn't in it. He had been so close, so <em>close<em>, he could have touched it, but the dream he'd had since he was a little boy had been yanked away from him. His father's dream had been yanked from him.

"_You were outbid."_

"_You can kiss that place goodbye."_

"_A boy of your background woulda had his hands full, tryin' to run a big business like that."_

"Thank you, ev'nin' star!"

Leonard's cheer momentarily brought Thomas out of his fugue, and for a brief moment, as he put on his gloves, the waiter wanted to hate his best friend. For having money, for having status, for having his dream (his silly, _childish_ dream) come true with almost no effort at all, for having every single thing that Thomas had to go without handed to him on a platter.

"_You were outbid…"_

"…_kiss that place goodbye…"_

"_A boy of your background woulda had his hands full…"_

Just as quickly though, the hatred drained from him. It wasn't Lenny's fault that things worked out like this. Thomas should have known that the Fenners wouldn't honor their word. Why sell the property to a black man when a white man was also willing to buy?

He dragged himself out from behind the changing screen, dressed in sparkling pale blue and white. He heard Leonard say something about little boys and fairy tales, but he just couldn't summon the energy to care – he just felt empty.

"…_outbid…"_

"…_goodbye…"_

"…_boy of your background…"_

"Well," Leonard chirped. "I'm off. Wish me luck!" He all but ran out the door, calling for Princess Naya. As his steps faded away, Thomas drifted listlessly across the room to the open balcony.

"Almost…"

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><p>This should not have taken me over a year to write. Especially since I had most of it written within a couple of weeks. I am SO sorry. In any case, I hope you enjoyed, and please leave a review!<p> 


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